Blank Slate
by MiaulinK
Summary: The voices tear Danny's sanity apart every time they come. They overwhelm him with pure sound. All he knows to do is use the medicine the doctor gave his Mommy and Daddy and hope it works. Young!Danny, Telepath!Danny.
1. Burning

**I am reposting this fic because I could never tell if anybody read it in the right order. I figured it would be simpler to just fix some errors, delete the previous version, and publish this one. See, I wrote the second chapter first, and only later wrote this chapter. I published them in the order I wrote them, so I think it confused my readers. I was rather fond of it. If you're wondering about the odd printing, I did it this way because I thought it expressed how he felt better. I own nothing!**

Chapter 1: Burning

The **poundingPOUNDINGpounding** in Danny's head was noisy. Blurs of sound, _shoutingscreaming_ for his attention. He whimpered, curling up in a tight ball, the reality of the wall beside him helping not at all. The pain was more than pain; pain was stubbing your toe. This was _screamingfitofrageredhotanvil_ pain. He could barely think, he just wanted the **PAIN** to _goaway_. His simple request. The only one he had. He rocked back and forth.

 _/He'shavinganotherfit/calm/_ _ **hospital**_ _/everything'swrong/_ _ **why?/**_ _theboycan'tdoathing/supper/he'llfeelbettersoon/_

Danny barely knew himself anymore. The **painPOUNDINGpoundingPAIN** wouldn't stop unless he got the medicine again. That foul-lothesome _supposedtohelpyou_ medicine. He uncurled from his ball, just in time for another wave of **PAIN**. He collapsed again. He had tried to get the voices _outOUTout_ , but it never worked. It was a relief when he lost consciousness sometimes from the force he hit his head against the wall with.

He slammed his head against the wooden posts on his bed, and threw himself at the wall, screeching. A dull, thudding pain flew through his skull, accompanied by another spark.

 _/roomwithwindows_ _ **KITCHEN**_ _brownies/nothospitalhe'llgetoverit/justaphase/hewon'tneedtogo/thedoctorinwashington/_ _ **upstairsbeforehehurtshimse-/**_ _beupsoonasiputthisdown/_

He screamed inside his head, and the voices paused, just for a second. The closest ones stopped completely, but the farther ones-

 _/Frankiesagoose/ihope-date/kiss/whaaaa/babysinterruptingagain/_

He struggled up. _Onestep-onestep-keepgoing_. He was nearly at the door. He fumbled with the doorknob, opened the door, and kept going. _Onestep-onestep-keepgoing_. He made it down the stairs, fighting the **poundingPOUNDINGpounding** in his head. He didn't quite know how he got down the stairs; only that he did it.

He was at the medicine cabinet, looming, blue doors wavering in his field of vision five feet above himself. He used a tall chair, moving slowly, balancing on the tips of his toes, swaying, back-and-forth. Getting on it was hard. He opened the cabinet, and the huge drawers, and found it.

It was orange, and syrupy. He had to get onto the counter to grab it. He tried to read the label, but the words were just a blur, and the voices were getting worse.

If he took more, wouldn't the **painPAINpain** leave faster? He unscrewed the lid. Nearly fell over again, the only thing keeping him upright being the grip on the cabinet-handle, and the knowledge that the hurt would go away, the same way it usually did. He bit the top, afraid that he'd drop the bottle and lose it, and slowly, slowly tilted it back, before gulping it down in seconds. Everything was gone. He felt a little sick. He stumbled off the chair, and threw the bottle in the trashcan.

He began the long trek back **upupup** the stairs, each step slow and wearisome. He made it to the top, and ran to the bathroom seconds later puking up some of the nasty medicine. He shuddered, and the voices kept playing. He laboriously pulled himself up into bed, and set his head on the pillows, voices still there.

 _/Hewasinakitchen,andthelivingroom,andthecleanerwassoloud/adiningroom/foodfillednostrilswithsweetaromas/_

The images were immersive, but they began to subside. Sliding away, the room was quiet, and he was so tired, and the room was getting **darkerdarkerdarker...**

Danny felt a queer cold sensation, and he only wished it could stay this way _foreverandever_.

The room was gone, and Danny lost consciousness, blackness and blessed silence overtaking him.

 **How do you like this part? Review, please! Thanks! Also, if you couldn't tell, Danny is a telepath in this story. It was a different idea that I'd never seen before, so I just wrote it out. This story has no sequels at all. I'll post the next chapter, since it's already complete, on Sunday, just after I finish my homework. And, yes, I am well aware that accidental/intentional overdosage figures frequently in my fictions. What can I say? It makes a great plot device!**

 **-MiaulinK**


	2. Amnesia

**This is the second-chapter-which-was-actually-the-first! I won nothing. As you can see, once again I was using a different style of capitalization to suit the way I thought he might feel. I hope it turned out okay!**

Chapter 2: Amnesia

The Boy woke with a warm trickle of something running down His face. His eyes slowly fluttered open, and He saw, as if from a distance, a white ceiling, all-encompassing. His gaze sharpened, and He found himself Listening to the Silence. He had no idea why the Silence was so important, only that it was. The Silence was delicious. It was Beautiful. The Boy sat up carefully, perceiving that he was in a Blue Room. A mirror was Webbed with Cracks beside His bed, as if some great Force had knocked against it. Items were thrown around the room. He did not know the Names of these Things, they simply: Were. He slid his feet onto the cool, beautiful floor. It was fascinating. He Smiled, and walked on Wobbly Feet. He looked around the Room. Shiny Objects caught His Eyes. He turned a knob, and fell through the door, into a room with another shiny collection of Things. He rubbed at the Red Streak on His face. It was Ugly. It came off. He heard a sharp rap at another door-thing like the one He had just fallen through. Seconds later, a girl with Orange Hair walked in, and stopped.

The Girl-With-Fire-Hair Smiled at him. "Danny, supper is ready. I cooked some wieners, the kind you like! Are you okay now?"

What were wieners? Supper? Danny? Sounds came to his lips in a meaningless babble. The Girl-With-Beautiful-Hair didn't look happy.

"Come on, little brother." He wondered what Little Brother was. He guessed She wanted Him to follow Her, and let Her grab his Hand. He was quiet. He followed Her, not knowing what She wanted. He was lead to a flat rectangle on legs, like the chair he had seen, and the Bed he had been on. Something smelled Good. He watched the Girl eat the funny round things. He slowly followed Her example. She smiled at him. He was Happy, and that was Good. Words: he cannot Remember them, but he imitated Her. She was not Happy, but let him.

"I think you're acting like a two-year-old. So stop, Danny." She kept calling him Danny.

"Danny?" He asked.

She rolled her eyes. "Yes. I'm Jazz. It's nice to meet you." Her tone was weird, he decided. Jazz? She had said that several times. She was Jazz?

"Jazz? Yes?"

"Yes." So yes meant he was Right. He was Glad. He continued to imitate Her. He learned new words right and left; perhaps some forgotten Memory. He did not Remember a thing. Not by himself. But he Listened. And he Listened to the Silence, too.

 **How do you like this chapter? Can you leave a review to tell me? Thanks! Danny is about five in this story, and this is before he actually meets or befriends Sam and Tucker. At this point, he is just a boy forced into solitude because of his telepathy. I write a lot of imaginary when-Danny-was-five scenarios. I even have quite a few age-reversal ideas, but those haven't found their way into a story yet.**

 **-MiaulinK**


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